A Mad, Wicked Folly

by Sharon Biggs Waller

  “A mistake! I didn’t mean to do it. I’ll buy you a new gown.”

  “It’s not the gown!” I was growing ever more frustrated with him. “I told you no, but you took it anyway, even though it was important to me. Art is my life, yet you don’t even care to understand that. I can’t be with someone who refuses to understand me.”

  “Not that new-woman claptrap! Mother said you would never be happy. She knew that night when you opened your mouth and wouldn’t shut your noise about women’s rights. I told her you were only trying to get a rise out of Father, and that you didn’t really mean it. I see now that I had the wrong end of the stick.”

  “None of that matters anymore. I’m ending our engagement.”

  Edmund pulled his case out of his trouser pocket and took a cigarette out. He lit it and then sat down on his bed, settling back against the pillows. He looked at me with a calm expression. “You won’t end the engagement. You’re just cross right now. I doubt you want to spend the whole of your life with your aunt Maude.”

  As I watched him smoke the cigarette, I noticed what a weak chin he had and how his eyes turned down at the corners and how his lips pouted, as though always in a sulk. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought he was handsome.

  “Believe what you wish, but I’m quite serious.”

  He leaned over to tap the ash into the crystal ashtray that sat on the nightstand. “So does that bloke you knock about with understand you?”

  I stood there, looking at him, hoping I hadn’t heard him say that. I wanted to pretend to myself that he didn’t mean Will, that he was asking about someone else, maybe someone I had been talking with at my coming-out party. But Edmund hadn’t left my side once, and most of the boys I’d talked to were Edmund’s friends.

  It was all unfolding in front of me; the two worlds I had been straddling since France were beginning to collide, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it happening. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean,” I finally said, having no idea what else to say.

  “Don’t play that game. You were with a bloke awhile ago at the house in Chelsea. The caretaker had come to check because a neighbor told him some people were in the back garden the week before. He saw the two of you leaving. I didn’t believe him at first, but then he described that tie you wear, the one with the birds on, and I knew it was you.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

  He shrugged. “I assumed it was your brother; maybe you were showing him the house. I didn’t think you capable of an affair until now. This sudden revelation that you don’t want to be married anymore made me think maybe it’s because of this bloke. Your face told me true. So who is he?”

  “I’m not having an affair. He’s my art model. I drew him in the summerhouse a few times. I told you I didn’t stop drawing—”

  Edmund interrupted, his blue eyes icy. “When you say you drew him, what exactly do you mean?”

  I hesitated. “I . . . I drew him . . . undraped.”

  “I don’t know the lingo, Victoria; you’ll have to help me out.”

  “You know what it means,” I said carefully.

  Edmund jumped to his feet and grabbed my arm. I shrank back. I didn’t think Edmund would hurt me, but he was drunk and he was angry. “Say it! You did it, so say it! Out loud!”

  I shook my head.

  “Go on!” he spat.

  “It means without his clothes on! I drew him like that and I’m not sorry about it. I’d do it again.”

  “Is that all you did? Draw?” His voice rose. “Tell me the truth, Victoria, because somehow I don’t believe you.”

  “At first that was all we did, but then . . . then something happened.”

  “What? What happened?”

  I swallowed. Edmund had every right to be angry, had every right to know the truth. “We kissed. It was just the once.”

  Edmund dropped my arm.

  “I didn’t mean it to happen, Edmund. I didn’t. I ended it. I haven’t seen him in a long time. He has nothing to do with why I’m breaking our engagement.”

  Edmund stepped away from me and pulled the tail of his shirt down. “You’ve certainly hidden your true colors.”

  “You’re right. I tried to act like someone I wasn’t. That’s not fair to you. You never made out to be anyone else.”

  “Quite right,” he said. “I’m no phony. You are, though.”

  I twisted off the engagement ring and held it out to him. He grabbed it out of my hand and tossed it into his ashtray, where it landed among the mashed-up cigarette butts and ashes. “I don’t want you, anyhow. You’re debauched, as far as I’m concerned. I’m breaking our engagement, and I’ll tell everyone the reason why.”

  I knew he was talking out of anger, and maybe he wouldn’t say such things to me if he weren’t drunk, but it hurt me all the same. “I thought you didn’t care about that. Isn’t that what you told me before? The king doesn’t care about such social conventions, so why should we?”

  “The king was never made a cuckold or a laughingstock by Queen Alexandra’s actions. Think of it. A lowly caretaker saw my fiancée at our home with another man. And I won’t be packed off to the navy because of you.”

  “I’m sorry, Edmund. I’m sorry for everything,” I said, and I left the room.

  As soon as the sun rose, I rang for Sophie and asked her to arrange for our departure home with one of the footmen. And we left before anyone else awoke.

  Thirty-Five

  London, the Reform Club,

  Saturday, fourteenth of August

  I TOLD SOPHIE EVERYTHING as we rode the train home to London.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “I’m going to implore Freddy to help me get our father on my side.” After all, Freddy had convinced Father that publishing was the right path for him. Perhaps if I laid out my plans, explaining exactly what I would do, so as not to appear like an impetuous girl, he might understand. I couldn’t help but think about the look of admiration Papa had had on his face when I explained the telephone to him. I would talk to him in the same way. And Mamma—I would appeal to her, artist to artist. She’d defended me to my father before; surely there was a chance she would again.

  I needed to cobble a plan together before they returned home from the continent tomorrow morning, before Sir Henry was able to speak to him. Edmund would have told his father about Will, and Sir Henry would tell Papa. Freddy had said he would always be on my side. If he spoke to our parents with me, helped me convince them, then I might have a chance.

  It was nearing two o’clock, so Freddy would be at the Reform Club in Pall Mall. As soon as the train alighted at the station, I sent Sophie home with my luggage and art satchel, and I took a hansom cab to the club.

  A quarter of an hour later I reached the palatial building. Although my father and brother frequented the club weekly, I had never been inside; women were not allowed membership. I walked in and stood on the mosaic pavement in the atrium. The Reform Club turned out to be an ode to masculine sensibility. The paneled walls were decorated with large, foreboding portraits of its founding members. The space was cavernous, with a lead crystal ceiling that let in the light. A grand staircase led up to a gallery that wrapped around the central atrium.

  A tall and scrawny young footman dressed in a tailcoat approached me. “May I assist you, miss?”

  “I’m looking for my brother, Freddy Darling,” I said. “I wish to speak with him.”

  He drew himself up. “Our club is closed to women, miss. I will get a message to him, and he can attend you at your home.”

  I glanced past him and noticed a group of men climbing the stairs, so I lifted my skirts and went around the astonished footman toward the staircase.

  “Miss!” I heard the voice of the now very angry footman behind me. But I ignored him.

  As I c
limbed, I could hear the clink of billiard balls and the murmur of masculine voices coming from one of the rooms at the end of the gallery, so I headed there.

  There were many gentlemen inside the room. Some stood with billiard cues in their hands; others sat in leather chairs by the fire reading newspapers. The acrid smell and smoke of pipe and cigar tobacco hung in the air like fog.

  “Frederick Darling? Is Mr. Darling here?” I called out. The men turned to stare. The way they looked, you’d think someone had released a milk cow into their hallowed halls.

  “I say!” I heard one of them exclaim. “Where did she come from?”

  One of the newspapers lowered slowly, and the astonished face of my brother was revealed. “Vicky! What are you doing here?”

  “This isn’t done, old chap,” one of the gentlemen near him said. “Meet your fillies elsewhere.”

  “She’s my sister,” Freddy snapped. He stood and came over, took me by my elbow, and marched me from the room.

  The footman hovered outside. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “She just pushed in.”

  “It’s all right, Thomas. I’ll see that she doesn’t stay long.” The servant left, and Freddy turned to me. “What do you mean by coming here, Vicky? Actually, why are you in London at all? You’re meant to be in the country.” Then he saw my face, and his expression softened. “Oh, no . . . what’s happened now?”

  “I broke my engagement.”

  My brother looked alarmed. “Broke your engagement? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Marrying Edmund Carrick-Humphrey would be the biggest mistake of my life. That marriage contract is but a gold cage.”

  “Vicky, I love you dearly, but you do overdramatize—”

  “I can’t have a life where I’m not free!”

  “Calm down, Vicky.”

  “I can’t calm down!”

  “Vicky, an engagement can’t be undone so easily. The marriage contract is ironclad.”

  “How can that be? I’m not married yet!”

  “You might as well be. The engagement was announced formally, so the contract is in full effect. Do you know what a broken engagement means? There will be stories in the newspapers and scandal rags. At the very least, it will ruin your chances to ever marry.”

  “Ruin my chances to marry someone who cares about all that.” Certainly someone like Will would never care about such social rules.

  “That’s as may be. But this might hurt Father’s business, Vicky.”

  “How can you say that? Papa’s company is called Darling and Son Sanitary Company, not Daughter! Where was your sense of familial duty back when you wanted a life of your own?”

  That got him. He looked away and wouldn’t meet my eyes. And then finally he spoke. “So have you thought about what you will do?” he finally said.

  “I want to go to art school.”

  “How will you do that? Surely they only accept established artists—”

  “I’ve been accepted! The Royal College of Art accepted my application.”

  Fred gaped at me. “How? How did your mange that?”

  “I managed it. And on my own.”

  “Good God.” Freddy slumped against the wall and rubbed his forehead, his newspaper held slack against his side.

  “Maybe Papa will still give me an allowance, like he’s given you, so that I may keep my own home and pay my tuition. I don’t need anything much: just a small flat and art supplies. I can’t see what’s wrong with that, Freddy; Papa won’t even notice the money. When Papa sees how much work I did to get accepted, and how the examiners were impressed with my work, he’ll see sense. Just like with the success of your business. I need you there to help me convince him.”

  Freddy said nothing, and I became frightened he would say no. “For just a moment, see yourself in my place, Freddy,” I pleaded. “You left of your own accord. What if you were forced to work in Papa’s business? Could you do that, knowing your heart was not in it? Knowing your whole life that your heart was elsewhere?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Then don’t I deserve the same chance at happiness?”

  Freddy regarded me for a moment, looking unsure. It was clear that Freddy was wrestling with himself, trying to find a way around my reasoning, and then he pushed himself away from the wall. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. But breaking your engagement means more than a scandal, Victoria. It means the end to Darling and Son. Father has much to lose, including his pride. I wouldn’t count on an easy time of it.”

  Thirty-Six

  Darling Residence

  IT HAD BEGUN to rain, and the day had grown cold and dreary, so Freddy took me home in a hansom cab. He would come back in the morning when our parents arrived home.

  By the time we arrived in Berkeley Square, fog had purled in, and the streetlamps were lit. More ominously, the lights inside my father’s study were on.

  “They’re home,” I said. My stomach flipped over.

  “What the devil?” Freddy leaned past me to look. “I thought they weren’t due home until morning.”

  Not many country houses had telephones, but the Carrick-Humphrey manor did. It would have been nothing for Edmund’s father to pick up the blasted thing. In my imagination I could hear Sir Henry’s voice, reduced to a tinny rattle through the earpiece, as he relayed the story of my broken engagement to my horrified father. “What if . . .” I swallowed, feeling sick with nerves. “What if Sir Henry telephoned Papa? You know what he’s like when he’s angry, Fred. There’ll be no talking to him.”

  “There’s nothing for it.” Freddy stepped out of the cab. “Well, let’s gird our loins and face the lion in his den.”

  We went inside and, as suspected, found our parents in my father’s study. We stood there in the doorway; Freddy held my hand tightly. Papa was sitting by the fire, a glass of port in his hand. He looked haggard. The wrinkles round his eyes seemed deeper. My mother sat on the settee; her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. Our parents did not greet us, and my heart sank. I knew then that they had already heard.

  I saw Sophie standing near the window. I tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “Your mother and I arrived home to find an urgent message from Sir Henry waiting for us,” Papa said, getting right to the point. Although his voice was calm, his words were tinged with anger. “I rang him, and he told me that you ended the engagement with his son because he would not let you go to art school. Is this true?”

  I drew myself up tall. I needed all the bravery I possessed. “Yes.”

  My mother sucked in her breath.

  “Please, Papa, listen to me,” I pleaded. “There’s more to the story than that.”

  He barked out a short laugh. “Sir Henry tells me that you’ve been accepted to this school already. I had forbidden you to draw, yet you defied me! Your willful behavior continued, and under my nose!”

  Freddy stepped forward, put a hand on his shoulder. “Steady on, Father! Hear her out.”

  “We found a suffrage badge in your art satchel, Victoria,” Mamma said. “And drawings of women at that riot where the Pankhurst woman was arrested were in your sketchbook. You were there?”

  “You went through my satchel?” I cried.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Darling,” Sophie said. “They stopped me as soon as I arrived home and went through your things.”

  “Be quiet, Cumberbunch,” Mamma told her, taking on that imperial tone she always used with the servants.

  Sophie pressed her mouth closed. She looked at me, her eyes desperate.

  “Explain this.” Father fumbled for something alongside his chair. He held up my art satchel and dumped it upside down. My sketchbook tumbled out, accompanied by a cascade of WSPU leaflets, charcoal pencils, conté crayons, and the DEEDS NOT WORDS pin. “Every secret you harbor is in this bag.” He
threw down my satchel and snatched up my sketchbook. He turned to a page and held it out. I stared at my nude drawing of Will. His face was half covered under my father’s thumb. “This . . . filth . . . this muck. Sir Henry said you’ve been meeting a man at his home in Chelsea and saw him . . . unclothed. Had a sordid dalliance with him, too! Who is he?”

  I could not breathe. I could not speak. My knees sagged and I sat down on the footstool.

  “Cumberbunch!” my mother said. “You are her chaperone. Surely you knew about this?”

  “I did,” she said boldly, stepping forward. “It . . . it’s not right for you to stop her from drawing and the like. She loves it. She helped the suffragettes with art for their mural, that’s all. She did everything else you asked. She was even a success with the king! She wasn’t doing anything wrong or hurting anybody—”

  “That is none of your business,” my mother snapped. “Our rules for our daughter were laid out for you when I hired you. It’s not for you to say what she should or shouldn’t do.”

  “Leave her be, Mamma. It’s not her fault,” I said.

  “You are dismissed, Cumberbunch,” Mamma said. “Pack your things and leave in the morning.”

  Sophie wrenched her spectacles off and rubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Her face looked so different without them, vulnerable and naked.

  “That’s not fair, Mamma! Sophie didn’t do anything!” I said.

  “And that is exactly why Sophie must leave. She should have come to me directly this nonsense began. Utter betrayal. Now I see what the true reason was behind Joan Hollingberry’s marriage to that unsuitable man. It was you, wasn’t it? You encouraged it, and now you’ve ruined my daughter. And if you think you’ll get a character reference from me, Cumberbunch, you are sorely mistaken.”

  “You can’t do that to her!” I said. “If you punish her for my behavior, I’ll never forgive you—”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to get up to this mischief without her help.”

  “Enough of this!” my father said. “That will be all, Cumberbunch.”